


Not far enough from the Tree

by therune



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Brothers, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Other, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23382886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: Real World& Twin AU:Jack and Timothy actually are twins. They don't find out until 30 years later.
Relationships: Handsome Jack & Timothy Lawrence
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. With the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative/Fuller Title:  
> The Skeletons in our Closets ate the Apples fallen not far enough from the Tree

Jack gripped the wheel of his old beater tighter and leaned forward to peer through the windshield. It was getting more and more difficult to see through the ever increasing rain. He should have been at home, cozy, with Angel telling him about her day while they ate their favorite, mac&cheese. But a rather hellish day hadn't ended at the office, the torrent of work flooding over into his private life. Angel spilled some juice on his shirt. Which wouldn't have been that terrible since she was a kid and expecting a kid not to spill something that shouldn't be spilled was a crazy task in and of itself. Hadn't it been for the fact that it happened to be Jack's last clean white shirt which he sorely needed for a presentation at work the next day and he hadn't run out of laundry detergent two days ago and hadn't had a chance to go shopping yet and had told himself it could wait until Saturday, Jack would have cleaned up the spill, explained to Angel that she had to be more careful with open containers and the whole matter would have been over. But no, the universe hated Jack. 

Programming had seemed like such a safe choice – growing field, high demand, potential of high-paying salary – but in reality it was much bleaker. He was one of hundreds of drones working at Hyperion, each one more desperate than the next to get a step higher, climb a further, measly rung on the insurmountable ladder. Jack was good, but he also had a kid at home, meaning he couldn't compete with the mindless intensity the others often did. No all-nighters for him, no coming into work ridiculously early, no chance of him coming into work on his rare day off to cover someone else's shift or giving up time off for the sake of the company. He always had Angel to think of.  
The only way he could excel was by showcasing his work, his skill, his cunning – but the bosses almost never listened to the lowly folk in the cubicles like him and on the 1000:1 chance they did, they wouldn't sacrifice their time, making 1000 bucks a minute, to listen to a programmer with either a huge stain on his shirt or one who had come in wearing a hoodie. He needed that shot which meant he needed a shirt. But it was late at night, there were basically no shops around and so there was no choice but to pray there was enough in the gas tank to survive the trip the the seemingly only 24/7 shop, get back and get him to work the next day.  
The flimsy plastic bag with the laundry detergent seemed to mock him from the passenger seat.  
'You'll never get that promotion,' it taunted him, 'you don't have a chance'.  
If Jack had ever listened to voices like that, he'd still be back at Tantalus, working a minimum wage dead end job. Or rather, still stealing what he needed to scrounge by, or be homeless or dead. 

He cursed the ineffective windshield wipers who seemed to only spread the rain around, not actually remove it. The bridge was coming up and Jack relaxed a bit. Home was 10 minutes away. He'd wash his shirt, tuck Angel into bed and go over his notes again. He was almost safe. Currently Angel was parked in front of the TV, no doubt delighted to watch an extra episode (or two) of her cartoon. It was going to be okay.

Thunder grumbled and Jack wanted to roll his eyes. How cliche could his life become? It was already raining, so the next step was a thunderstorm.  
A lonely passerby walked slowly on the pavement to his right. It seemed as if he was only wearing a hoodie and was soaked to the bone. If Jack were the person to feel pity for others, that sight surely would have moved him. But his thoughts went more along the line of 'better you than me'. Then lightning struck, illuminating the scene. Jack immediately hit the brakes, his car protesting, tires squealing, the car threatening to careen off the road before it came to a stop. Jack couldn't believe his eyes. From under the hood, with wide, skittish eyes....his own face looked back at him. He was quite familiar with it, spending perhaps too much time in front of the mirror. That was him! He unbuckled the seat belt, ripped open the door and called out. 'Hey, wait!“ 

The stranger looked ready to bolt, no doubt expecting a mugging or worse. He probably couldn't see Jack clearly with the rain and him standing in front of the headlights. Jack raised his hands in a placating manner, approached him slowly like one would approach a wary cat. His heart thundered in his chest, thoughts whirling inside his head. What was going on? 

'I'm Jack,' he introduced himself, placing his left hand on his chest. 'And you... you look...'  
The stranger didn't say anything. Wordlessly he removed his hood and both gasped. Indeed, Jack was looking at his own face. Same nose, chin, cheekbones, mouth and... he couldn't believe it. Even his eyes.  
Back at Tartarus he had been mocked and bullied for being different. For being the freak whose eyes didn't match. One green, one blue.  
The identical set of eyes looked at him, back at him. The stranger stared, eyes wide open. He looked shocked, a bit scared.

The rain was pounding down on them both, drenching them to the core. Lightning flashed again. Only after the thunder did Jack even hear the insistent beeping of his car, protesting that he left the engine running with the door wide open.  
'Who are you?' Jack asked in wonder. Was he going mad? Had he stumbled into a parallel universe? Was he dreaming? Time travel? His future self coming back to warn him and prevent him from doing some terrible mistake?  
'I'm', the stranger began and then coughed, cleared his throat, 'I'm Timothy. What's going on?'

Later on, Jack couldn't tell how much time they had spent in their little stand-off, curiously watching each other. Time had lost its meaning. He felt dizzy, giddy, wary and suspicious. Was this some sort of trick?  
Their strangle little bubble burst as a car came barreling down the road, honking furiously as it swerved around Jack's beater, the driver screaming some obscenity through the window. They were still standing on a road, in the rain, at night.  
'I..uh...we should get out of the rain,' Jack suggested.  
'Timothy nodded. 'There's a coffee shop I know, not far. We could...talk,' he said after a pause. Jack felt like at the first time behind the wheel of a car. Everything felt strange, and he was hesitant to push anything or press down on the accelerator, afraid that the wrong movement would send the car careening off the road and killing him. Navigating this situation felt eerily similar. He wanted to know everything – who was Timothy? Where did he come from? How had they never met before? - but was wary, extremely careful about choosing his words.  
'Do you...look, I have a car. How about I drive us there if you give me directions?'  
Timothy gave him a long look, clearly judging the situation. Jack felt like bursting with nervous energy, wanting to fidget, to talk his way out. After Timothy considered the car itself carefully, he nodded. 

Jack got into the driver's seat and leaned over to push the other door open.  
'The outside handle doesn't always work,' he apologized, feeling embarrassed for his piece of crap car. Belatedly he realized what his car could reveal about him. Number plate, his financial status and then he remembered Angel. Her purple booster seat in the back, pony toy beside it, empty juice box on the floor that he had promised to clean up later and of course the sun shade with her latest cartoon obsession featuring an annoying dancing robot on it. 

Timothy got in and seeing him from the side made things only slightly less weird. He grabbed the seat belt and buckled himself in. Jack forced himself to pay attention to the road, remember the blinkers, to watch carefully. He could have just stared at his passenger for hours.


	2. Came the Metaphorical Skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a dick to service workers, but what else is new?

If someone had looked up 'hipster joint' in a dictionary, this shop would have graced the pages, labeled 'prime example'. Timothy had given him directions, sitting ramrod straight on the seat, looking as if he was mentally preparing himself to bolt at any second even if it meant jumping out of a moving car. He seemed to relax slightly as the shop came into view. Jack was on the one hand slightly offended, on the other, he had to admit that he was a complete stranger – one who shared his face, nonetheless.   
The coffee shop had been a smart choice – public space, witnesses if one of them turned out to be a deranged psycho killer, lights, no alcohol and no rain.   
It was familiar territory for Timothy, after they'd been in Jack's – his car – first. Jack considered it an even trade.

Both got out of the car and the spell was broken. It was as if both had held their breath inside the car, not talking except for 'take the next left' or similar things. The door opened, a bell jingled and noise spilled out.   
'Should we go in?' Jack asked. He'd already taken a few steps forward but turned so he could see Timothy. Timothy stared for a moment, silently. Jack had no doubts that he was mentally calculating the risks, the odds and what the hell he was doing. That was what he had looked like during the drive. He seemed to have come to a decision.

Timothy caught up to him, then passed him and once inside, led Jack over to a secluded booths with convenient high backs. He sat down and after a quick moment of hesitation, his hands hovering in mid-air in front of his chest, he quickly put his hoodie up again. Jack crossed his arms, and quickly looked around . From his position he could see a cashier at the counter, a waitress and four more customers. 

'I don't want the staff to see me, they know me. Oh, this was such a stupid idea, I'm an idiot,' he began to babble and tried to burrow deeper inside his wet hoodie.   
As if on cue, a waitress walked up to their booth. She stopped in front of Jack and frowned.

'Timmy, back again? I thought you were done for the day? I can't let you stay if you don't order anything, you know that,' she addressed Jack. Of course. With Timothy's face hidden, if she had even seen him yet, she naturally assumed that Jack was Timothy. 

'2 cappuccinos,' Jack ordered, she wrote it down on a small notepad with a frown and turned to leave.   
'And without the condescension next time, sweetcheeks!' he called after her.  
'I can never show my face here ever again,' Timothy whispered and it looked like he was trying his best to melt into the seat and disappear.  
Right....crap. Maybe he should have reigned himself in a little. But she started it, assuming he was too poor to even afford a coffee. The nerve...

Jack sat down on the other side of the booth, clasped his hands together and set them on the table. 'Relax, this is....weird, but... Screw it, who are you?'

Timothy started to fidget, reaching for a paper napkin and beginning to tear it into tiny shreds, then taking the next when the first was utterly destroyed.   
'I'm a nobody. My name is Timothy Lawrence. I'm unemployed. Went to college, got my degree but no one is hiring. So I worked a minimum wage dead end job in a bookstore which closed down last month because of course it did, I mean, who even reads books anymore, right?' His voice went high. “My roommate was getting pissed because of the rent, I went for a walk and' he looked up right into Jack's eyes, 'There you were.' His speech had taken up more and more speed by the end. 

'I'm Jack,' Jack began, eager to share, to know more, to learn everything he could about Timothy, 'I work as a programmer for Hyperion, live in a tiny apartment. I went out shopping and...I met you.'

'You're... you're just normal,' Tim said in an unbelieving tone and Jack couldn't help but laugh.

'What did you think I was? Clone? You from a parallel universe who had nothing better to do than follow you through the rain?'

Timothy chuckled, clearly covering for nerves rather than out of humor, 'My money was on me from the future telling me to get my life back on track.'

'That thought did cross my mind,' Jack admitted and grinned 'Soooooo? Huge coincidence?'

'I don't think that's likely.'

Now sure that Timothy was human, just a guy like him, Jack began to think. Who could he be? What were the odds of...nah, impossible

'I hope we're not like that in-vitro scandal from the news,' Jack admitted, 'you know, the one where the doctor who was supposed to help all those chicks get pregnant confessed to swapping all the sperm for his so he was the bio daddy for like 30 kids?' Wasn't that the plot of a dozen episodes from a dozen different crime procedural shows?

'God, I hope not,' Timothy chuckled and then suddenly sat up and scrutinized Jack closely. 'I never met my dad,' he whispered, 'my mom raised me on her own. She always said he was a dead-beat who ran off. I don't even know his name.' 

What? Barely able to contain his excitement, Jack followed up.   
He leaned forward, barely managing to keep his voice down. 'I don't know my dad either. I was raised by my grandmother, after my mother....passed. That's what she claimed. I don't know my real parents.'

'We could be half-brothers!' Tim put 2 and 2 together, 'same dad, different moms. I've always wanted a brother,' Timothy confessed with a shy smile.   
He looked at Jack, fringe falling into his eyes. 

That was the first thing this evening that made sense. His family was a sore subject for Jack so he naturally tried to repress any thoughts going in that direction, but... well, Granny had always claimed that Jack's father had died when he was too young to remember him. Wouldn't be the first thing she lied about. 

'Is that likely?' Jack asked. He had wanted a brother before, but with his life at home....in the end he had been glad there been no one else but him. 

A secret half-brother. Dad ran out on his mom, only to hook up with Timothy's and then disappearing to doubtlessly repeat that stunt with someone else. But... he looked at Timothy, looked at his own face staring back at him, and he had doubts. A thought hit him. A brilliant, yet horrible thought. 

'Wait... Timothy?'

'Yes, Jack?'

Jack first reached for a napkin himself, drew a pen from his jacket and scribbled a some numbers on it, before carefully covering them with his palm.  
He fixed Timothy with an unblinking stare. 'When's your birthday?'

Timothy stared at him, uncomprehending at first.   
'What does that matter?'

'Please, just tell me. It's important'

Catching on, Timothy let out a little gasp. '26th of February,' he stated. 

Without saying a word, Jack turned the napkin so Timothy could read what he'd written. It said '26th of February'. 

They sat in silence which was only interrupted by the waitress coming back and slamming their cups on the table before storming off rapidly. 

'This can't be real,' Timothy said. 

Jack shrugged his shoulders. 'Do you have a better explanation?'

'We're twins?' Timothy asked. 'How is that even possible?'

'I have no idea,' Jack admitted. 'I was ready to buy the half-brother thing – a cheating husband getting two women pregnant, it happens. But....the way you look. It's the only possible explanation.'

'But how can that be? I never had a brother! I'd think I'd remember that, another kid is hard to miss!'

He got Jack there.   
Both took a sip from their drinks. Timothy set his down, tore open a sugar packet and poured the contents on top of the foamy crown of his coffee. But he didn't drink, he held the mug warming his hands on the porcelain. Jack meanwhile ate the cookie, drained half his cup in one go and subtly tried to gauge whether Timothy would like to eat his cookie himself. 

'Maybe the hospital screwed up?' Timothy suggested suddenly. 'There's stories like this all the time. Nurses accidentally swapping babies. One of us could have been swapped?' 

Jack pondered for a while. 'I'm pretty sure either of our moms would have recognized she was carrying twins. Even if one of us was swapped, there should have been a third baby involved. Like you said 'another kid is hard to miss'.

'You're right, Timothy conceded. 'You were raised by your grandmother, you said? So, you never met your mom?” Timothy asked, voice going really high at the end. 

'Never,' Jack confirmed. Well, as long as he remembered there had always just been him and Granny. Sure, she had complained about his no-good mother and him, her no-good son. She had told Jack how his mother had dropped him off for one afternoon and then just never came back. Could she have had a second kid? Pawned him off at her own mother's while raising the second kid on her own? How unlikely that seemed, it was at least possible. 

Jack felt as if his brain had been on a roller coaster, slowly going up while the excitement rose and the dread. Now he had reached the top and could see from up high - there were his possible futures and pasts. His stomach tied itself into knots while his thoughts shot forward from the machine gun that was his brain – if we are twins, I can meet my mother. My mother who abandoned me to Granny. I could ask why she left me and kept Timothy. Why she never reached out. Why she had pretended he had never existed. If my father is really dead. Why all the lies. Why all the pain. But would I want to know the answers? If my mother was anything like Granny would I even want to meet her?   
He imagined showing up at her home – small garden, white picket-fence, well-cared house – and asking why she had left him. But her response...  
What if the answer was the one Granny had given him? That she didn't love him, that she never cared and ran off to enjoy her life without him. Jack almost wanted to laugh – was he the evil twin? Was that why....why everything? 

Timothy had shredded another napkin (or 8) and went back to clutching his mug. Without a doubt, he had to be thinking in similar directions. 

The roller coaster moved forward and plunged Jack into the depths with nauseating speed. He couldn't do this. Not here, not like this. His fingers felt clammy, yet his face burning hot. The rage inside him bubbled up, threatening to overtake him like a tidal wave. His face wanted to contort itself into a snarl, he just knew. 

But suddenly a new thought emerged. It cut through the fog of his anger with piercing clarity. Why did neither of them just want to call their family? For him, it was clear. He'd gargle glass shards before he ever willingly picked up a phone to talk to Granny. But why hadn't Timothy offered to, let's say, call his (their?) mother? With irrefutable evidence – Jack – it would be hard to deny the truth. Technically, the mystery could be cleared up in minutes. 

There were three explanations: Timothy was dumb and hadn't even thought of it; his mother was dead and he couldn't do it; or, that was what Jack as willing to bet on, he didn't want to. Could Timothy be in a similar situation? He thought of talking to the woman who raised him so abhorrent he'd never consider it, even when faced with someone like Jack?

'I think I need some time to process this,' Timothy interrupted his thoughts. He looked like he'd been prepared for Jack to lash out, demand to know why, force home to answer. 

Jack knew that look sadly too well. And he wanted Timothy to stay so that he could drill deeper, ask him why he didn't just call his mother, how his childhood was like, drag the secrets out of him one by one. Timothy couldn't just leave like that, not while leaving Jack behind. Jack wanted everything, he needed everything. Usually, Jack knew how to make things go his way. But....Timothy was an unknown variable. If he was anything like Jack (apart from devilishly handsome looks), Jack's tricks would never work on him. Ultimately, Jack decided that he needed time, too.

'Yeah, sure,' he agreed. Maybe 11pm in a coffee shop, faced with life-changing news, wasn't the best place to act immediately and try to get more life-changing information. There was lots he could do tomorrow. With a proper plan, a couple of hours of sleep...already strategies were forming in his mind. There had to be records from the hospital, birth certificates, and more. 

'I'll give you my number,' Timothy announced and Jack pulled his phone from his pocket. The case was golden and the whole phone was a sleek, modern affair. His job at Hyperion was good for employee discounts, at least. As Jack navigated to the contact menu, he had to look up and grin.   
'I don't even know your last name.'  
Could it be? Were they sharing the same name?   
'Lawrence, Timothy Lawrence.' 

Apparently not.   
After Timothy had dictated his number to Jack, he immediately pressed call. He wanted nothing to be left to chance, a false number, tapped in haste, would not ruin the chance of seeing his brother again. His brother.... the word felt weird, even in his thoughts. He had a brother. 

Timothy showed him his phone with the incoming call. It was older, scratched up and there was a cutesy charm hanging off the top. Jack didn't know why, but he disliked seeing the gray avatar above his number on the screen. That was him, not a nobody. Quickly he snatched the phone, prompting a surprised shout from Timothy. Jack opened the camera and snapped a selfie, then added that to his contact info.   
'So you can see this handsome mug whenever I give you a call,' he explained as he handed the phone back to Timothy.   
Timothy laughed nervously. 

They both finished their coffee and stood up. Jack left enough money to cover the bill (no tip) and both went outside. The rain hadn't stopped, but been reduced to a mere drizzle.   
'Need a ride?' Jack asked.   
Timothy shook his head. 'I live not far away and I think a walk would be good for clearing my head.' 

Then.... there was the goodbye. Handshake? Wave? Hug? Awkward in-between?   
Other people had always said that Jack took a mile when he was offered an inch so when Timothy hesitantly pulled his hand from his hoodie pockets, Jack grabbed it and used it to pull Timothy into a bear hug. It was weird, being the exact same size and all, but Jack had the muscles to make it work. 

A million details screeched for input into his brain – the hoodie was still slightly damp, the fabric soft and smelling of some fabric softener, a small gasp from Timothy, his hands awkwardly hanging to the sides, a few stray hairs brushed over Jack's face and then it was over. 

Timothy disappeared in the nearest alley, Jack went to his car and drove home. He barely remembered to take the plastic bag with the laundry detergent with him. It hardly seemed to matter.   
Angel was sleeping in front of the TV in her pajama, clutching a stuffed toy while the TV was still on. Jack picked her up and put her into bed. 

He had a brother. Angel had an uncle. And his name was Timothy.


	3. And they started looking

Jack lay awake for a long time that night. Thoughts buzzed like swarms of angry bees inside his skull. A brother. A twin brother. The bees chased each other – was he like Jack? Was he different? Was he better? If yes, why? Nature versus nurture? Were they supposed to be the same? Had Granny ruined him? What was their mother like? And the one thing he couldn't let go: why did she abandon me? 

Jack had needed years to come to terms with the fact that his family never wanted him. Granny made that quite clear and his parents had shown it by their absence. Angel was his family now after... There was just him and Angel. And he was fine with that, both of them against the world. But now... Timothy. Timothy. Timothy was a dweeb name. Tim. Timmy. Tim-Tams. Tims. Timster. Timcat. Timmywimmy. Jack looked at his phone. His lock screen showed the generic Hyperion logo. 4:19. He snorted, then typed in his passcode. Angel's smiling face greeted him. At first he wondered what she would think of having an uncle, but then he decided that he couldn't tell her anything, not until he had checked very thoroughly that Tim (Timsywimsy? It was officially past his bed time) was on the level. 

Jack never did clean that shirt, so he went into work with a vest (if he was honest, it looked a lot like the one that belonged to a Halloween costume he'd worn to a costume party because his girlfriend at the time wanted to do a couple's costume and she had looked hot in her sheriff get-up.) over the stained shirt. Apparently it did little to match his jeans and sneakers and even less to impress his higher-ups. Tassiter left him with one of his sneering comments and the closing statement that he looked right at home in the cubicles. One day, Jack was going to strangle the guy and forcefeed him his own stupid goatee. 

After that, he looked very busy. Like any decent programmer, he'd written a few scripts to automate some of his workload and while those were working, he snooped through Timothy's life. Looking him up online first got some false results (Timothy Lawrence, according to the echonet, was either a football player from the 80s, a Canadian illustrator for children's books, a 14th century nobleman most famous for hosting a dinner party which ended with a house fire or the editor of a magazine dedicated to fishing) before he narrowed it down with the information he had – the college and the job at a book shop. The book shop was indeed closed, leaving behind a thank you note for the faithful customers on their webpage which looked like it had been designed by a radical teen in the 90s. But in the background (behind the glittering and moving 'closed' signs) there was a semi-transparent photo of the employees in front of the shop. Timothy was there at the very edge. But the quality was too bad for much more and zooming in only got him a mess of pixels.  
The college page didn't get him any results ...at first. Jack found Tim's name in a few class lists (was it even considered hacking if the password for the class was the name of the class itself and in one tough case, the name of the class followed by the year?) Timothy had apparently accumulated two things: a lot of college credits in creative writing and drama, and judging by Jack's estimation, a whole lot of student debt. What did you even do with a degree in creative writing? Be a penniless writer, but one could do exactly that without spending tens of thousands in student fees first. 

Before he had the time to dig deeper, it was lunchtime and Jack delighted in every second he didn't have to do work on company time. 

He locked his computer, activated his keylogger, and went to the cafeteria. The food was decent, if your expectation was 'hot' and 'edible', so like most cafeterias he'd ever been in. Jack chose fries and sat at a table in the corner. Normally he chose the nearest table and prevented anybody else from sitting with him. He was not above throwing food at people (he loved it). But he wanted to talk to Tim and nobody deserved to take away a single second he had with his brother. 

“Hey,” he texted and almost immediately he saw the three dots that meant that Tim was working on a reply. It took long and in the end he received a  
“Hi”. How many times had Tim rewritten his response? 

“What u doin?” Jack asked, message peppered with emojis. 

“Nothing much”...“...this is awkward, I don't know what to say.”

Jack sent a couple of emoji again. 

“What are you doing?” Tim texted and Jack snorted. Over text it was hard to make out but it felt like he meant it in a bickering sort of way, in a “what are _you_ doing?” tone. 

“Lunch break, sitting in the cafeteria. Watching the interns get scammed into paying for the resident lunch leech. U?”

“I'm at the library.”

“Books are for nerds,” he teased.

“I'm sorry, books, he didn't mean it.”

“Any hot librarians?”

“Are you secretly the jock from an 80s movie?”

“Are you secretly the nerd? With glasses and pocket protectors and suspenders?”

Jack's stomach plummeted when the three dots came back. Shit, he'd gone too far. The difference between teasing and straight up bullying wasn't one he'd ever learned and now he'd offended Tim. Way to go, Jack, 12 hours later and your new family, your secret twin brother, already hates you. They'd met once. Once. 

“Now that would be a movie. Two teens who couldn't be more different: the popular jack and the quiet nerd, but there's a twist: they're secret twins!”

Relief flooded his insides like lava. Tim didn't hate him. Probably. Jack's sense of humour was in desperate need of a tune-up (he'd sort of gotten stuck in the fratboy phase of his life, given that that had been the first time he'd ever experienced freedom and success, and letting go of that was like cutting off a hand.)

Did Tim like cheesy 80s movies, too? What were his hobbies? Books, obviously, but after that...Jack didn't know and Jack didn't like that. 

“What's ur favrite movie?” he asked. Clutching the phone close, not looking away, staring at the three dots, he waited. 

Piece by piece, he pulled nuggets of information out of Tim. What movies he liked, which books he read, which music he listened to. It all made him more real. Nevertheless, Jack could feel the restraint. The answers seemed genuine, but strictly in the safe category. Nothing too outlandish, nothing that would scare someone away. He understood the impulse, having to reign himself in as well. Offering a piece of yourself, but noncommittal and watching like a hawk for the reply. Tim was testing the waters, too, and that made Jack smile. 

It should have made him wary – after all, what did he really know about Tim? - but Jack liked that side of Tim. They were equal in this. Although Jack was pretty sure Tim hadn't been trying to hack his place of employment. Echoing, however – it's what he had done, and gone further (Tim didn't seem to be a computer guy, but one could never know). Jack typed a small note to remind him to check how much of himself was online to see. Then he'd try to pry into his (their?) past. He'd never been able to find traces of his mother, as hard as he'd looked, but with Tim providing a bridge, he would find new information. Her name. Her face. His birth records. 

The buzzing around him grew weaker as people went back to their desks. The cafeteria was never quite empty but there was a definite rush hour. There was work to be done still. 

Jack wanted nothing more than to ask him for a meeting as soon as possible.  
But he had to think of Angel first. He couldn't just plop her down in front of the TV whenever he wanted to go out. Sadly the list of babysitters was abysmally small (due to his high standards and because no one ever measured up, not because he was deeply mistrustful and violated privacy laws with his background checks.) It really came down to maybe two of his exes (Nisha and him had parted on good terms but she had no maternal instinct to speak of so in the case she would agree to watch Angel for a few hours, it might not be entirely safe. It wasn't because Nisha was a bit of a bastard (because she was and it was one of the things he liked most about her), but because it didn't always occur to her that some things should be off limits to toddlers (knives and stoves among them). Moxx on the other hand was great with kids since she had two teens herself, but hated his guts and not even Angel's cutest smile could make her do any favors for Jack). But he needed to see Tim, he just needed to. Just once more wouldn't hurt, right? Angel wouldn't really notice.

“ ru free tomorrow?” he asked. 

Dot Dot Dot

For an agonizing moment he feared Tim would refuse. What would he do then? What if Tim didn't want him either? 

“Okay. But we can't go to the coffee shop, the waitress bears a grudge.”

“I know a bar,” Jack's fingers almost stumbled over themselves, he had to type first, “I can pick u up.”

“OK,” Tim sent followed by a smiley. 

“I have to go back to work, ttyl?”

Tim sent a thumbs up, then his name greyed out, marking him as no longer online. 

Jack left his dirty dish behind and walked back to his cubicle. He logged in, then fetched himself a coffee and some donuts from the complimentary setup (it might have been for a retirement party) in the back. After checking his keylogger for activity (finding none but himself) he pulled up some work to appear busy. Now, to look for the birth certificate of Timothy Lawrence. And the name of his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about being a programmer. Pretend Jack is actually good at his job and can do all the things he does in this chapter


	4. For us both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days ago I was in the zone and wrote 4 pages in about an hour. Too bad the happen in about Chapter 8. I forced myself to continue here to eventually get there.

With Angel in front of the screen (he should look into limiting her screen time, that cartoon could be rotting her brain. It certanly tried to knock a few points off his IQ everytime he glanced at “Claptrap, the dancing Robot and his Adventures”), his number on speed dial and only one button away, the nannycam pointed at her from the shelf (it was a ridiculously high end model, but nothing was too good for the safety of his little girl), hidden inside a hollowed out book, Jack was ready to meet Tim. 

With the results of his afternoon search crinkling in his jacket pocket, he got out of the car. The small parking lot (really, the alley next to the bar) was full of motorbikes and two pickup trucks.   
The bar itself was small, almost hidden with most letters from the sign burnt out. . “G- - - li- - - r” it spelled and the l was beginning to flicker, too. 

It looked like a dive Jack might have tried to sneak in when he was underage, boosted by bravado, a fake ID and the prospect of hustling some money from the pool table. 

A mountain of a man acted as bouncer. His biceps seemed to be roughly the size of a regular human male's waist and he towered at a respectable 6'8 over anybody. 

Jack acknowledged him with a nod, but he didn't move a muscle.   
Getting slightly antsy, Jack checked his phone. No message from Tim and nothing remarkable was happening with Angel. 

He looked up in time to see Tim jog over from the street.   
“There you are,” he greeted him.   
'Don't scare him off' fought with 'he's your brother, come on, Jack' before he pulled Tim in a one-armed hug. Quick and manly.   
“Did you jog here?” he joked. 

Tim was immediately flustered. “No, I took the bus, but got out at the wrong stop and....so technically, I did jog the last bit, yeah. The map app was only slightly helpful. The photos are completely wrong.”

Jack had to agree. He had reconsidered earlier, if taking Tim to the bar had been a good idea after all. Not the most trustworthy of establishments and he didn't know how far away it was from Tim's place. But this was Jack's home turf (he couldn't take Tim to his actual home and that left work – which was of course also out -, his favorite takeout place – which didn't even have chairs and only two rickety tables – and then pretty much nothing else he hadn't been banned from which was a surprising amount of establishments ranging from a children's library, multiple coffeeshops, a gym and even the science museum) and Jack needed the home advantage. 

Plus, no one cared about anyone in the bar. Also, it belonged to his ex Nisha, but she wasn't working that night. Jack had carefully clarified that in a series of short, inconspicuous texts. 

“Let's go,” he suggested and led the way.   
Tim had to crane his neck back to look at the bouncer.  
“Hi Wilhelm,” Jack greeted him, but the man only grunted. He didn't seem phased in the least that one of the regulars had multiplied and was now standing twice in front of him. Perfect. 

They went inside. A cloud of booze fumes, smoke and noise greeted them. Jack made a beeline for the bar and ordered his usual. Tim looked out of place in his yellow hoodie and jeans. Jack fit right in with his leather jacket, jeans and t-shirt. At least that's what he told himself. Judging from the other regulars, he could have worn biker gear, leather and only leather, a superflous amount of camo print or an astonishing lack of clothing that covered midriff, thighs or almost breasts and he would have been fine. 

The bartender placed the two beers in front of him and Jack took them to a table. It was the only one one with the partition to the pool tables and Tim predictably chose that exact side to sit down. There were no napkins for him to destroy this time, so he took a coaster from the stack in the middle and fiddled with that. 

“Was work nice?” Tim asked and then his face scrunched up in that way Jack identified as his (their) 'I realized that it was a stupid question as soon as I heard myself say it' look.   
It was smalltalk and normally smalltalk was fine, get the conversation going until you get to the point you really want to make. But normal didn't apply to their situation and the gradual “getting-to-know-you-by-asking-about-hobbies-and-by-answering-sort-of-genuinely-but-ultimately-in-a-safe-and-unoffending-manner” thing they had been doing during lunch didn't really bring them closer. 

Jack knew he couldn't open with the truth (It was good, I pretended to write code but actually sort of stole your identity to get access to your birth record, bank account, college paperwork and other things) but he was curious what truth Tim might be hiding. 

He hoped it was more in the vein of “I don't actually like superhero movies that much, I said it because it seemed like a safe answer. I actually prefers musicals, especially if they're animated and the main character is a princess” than “I've been stalking you and plan to murder you before taking your place in the world.”

“Same old, same cubicle life. Unappreciated, boring, stupid coworkers, terrible boss – work, you know,” he began, ”you?”

“Nothing much, sent a few resumes out, got a rejection mail from a retail place. The depressing cycle of 'you need experience to work but can only get experience through work' thing. At least they bothered to answer, most places just never reply.”

“Sucks,” Jack agreed and leant back. The papers in his pocket seemed to dig into his side. Almost as if they wanted out, wanted to be exposed. He did have the information on his phone, too, but slapping papers down felt more satisfying and dramatic than rotating your phone and waiting for the other to zoom in and read. 

But it didn't feel like the right time. Not yet, anyway. Tim was still uncomfortable and would bolt, probably not even caring if he had to jog all the way home. 

“Work is shitty,” he said and raised his glass for a toast. After a pointed look and eyebrow rise, Tim followed suit.   
Jack drank. He might have made it look as if he'd drunken more than he actually had. 

“Have you ever had a job you actually liked?” Jack asked. He knew the answer. Tim liked books, hung around in libraries for fun, not just for free wi-fi. He was smiling on the staff photo. He had liked his job at the bookstore. And so Jack's tone was carefully calibrated to provoke an honest response instead of grumbling about work in general. 

“The bookstore wasn't bad,” Tim began, “for a retail job, I mean. The customers sucked, mostly, but....I liked the job.”

Jack took another drink, so Tim filled the silence. He talked about his colleagues – the nice ones first, then he bitched about the others and Jack had to grin because you could have recorded that bit, bleeped out the actual names, played it in front of Tassiter and then he'd have fired Jack on the spot because it sounded just like him. Maybe with less swear words. 

Tim went on and told Jack what he already knew. The owners were older, set in their ways and instead of modernizing (for example their webpage from 1996), they complained about today's youth, people not reading anymore and then had gone bankrupt, costing everyone and Tim their jobs. 

“None of the other bookstores are hiring?” Jack asked. 

Tim set down his half empty glass loudly, way too loudly, and began to rant.  
“Some do, some don't. I was actually turned down last week from one. I have years of experience, commendation letters, a good reference from my old bosses – if they picked up the phone – and they turned me down. Because, and here's the kicker,” he leant forward, “I haven't worked at a coffeeshop before and I don't know how to bake scones.”

“What?” Jack asked, half interested, half pretending to match Tim's level of drunkenness. Not a single one of the other patrons even noticed them or cared. Not even the bar tender. 

“They converted half of the bookshop into a café and all of the employees must work there, too. They passed me over for a girl who worked at a coffee place for 3 months. Does she have experience with bookshops, managing, supervising employees? No. Does she read in her free time? No. But she knows how to make latte art, she got the job and I didn't.” 

“That's crazy,” Jack remarked. 

“I know! I have more qualifications. I even take free online vocational classes from the community college. Drives August crazy. But it's somehow not enough. Fuck,” he emphasized clearly and drank the rest of his beer. 

“Is August the roommate?” Jack asked. That was the one thing he hadn't been able to find. Timothy Lawrence didn't have an official residence, the college dorm being the last address on record. 

“Yes. He works nights at a bar and if I so much as stand up during the day, he complains. He bitches about the electricity bill being so high, me not respecting his sleep, the apartment not being spotless. I clean, but I'm not his mother. I don't clean his stuff, which is something he apparently expects. Threatens to kick me out from time to time. I mean, yeah, I know I'm not on the lease, but he needs the extra rent. Otherwise he'd have to run to mommy dearest. She was against him moving out, you know? Now he stands on his own two feet and he has to make it work, otherwise his mother was right. How do I know that, you ask? Because they had several screaming matches at around 4 in the morning in the living room.” 

Jack winced in sympathy. 

“I have never seen her and I pray I won't have to. One of those screaming matches? I learned afterwards that it was over the phone and she wasn't actually in the apartment. Couldn't tell from the volume.”

That was Jack's in. Speaking of mothers...

“Something occurred to me yesterday. We're twins. We're identical twins. Separated at birth. People must know. Doctors. Or family. Granny's dead, so I can't exactly ask her-” he stated clearly, killing off any possibility of Tim asking. As far as Jack was concerned, Granny _was_ dead. He kept tabs on her so that at least he'd know if she made any moves, making sure she'd never see him again or ever meet Angel. Granny wouldn't get her claws into Tim either.   
“So, why didn't you? Why didn't you just pick up the phone? Call Mom and ask 'hey, weird question, I just met my secret twin brother, what's up with that?'”

He fixed Tim with a stare. He didn't want him to run, but he couldn't have him wiggle out of the truth either. Tim couldn't play the 'she's dead, too' card either, the papers in Jack's jacket were undeniable proof. It would be interesting though if he tried.

“It seems easy, doesn't it? A phone call. Then we'd know the truth.”

Tim had gone a bit pale. Jack knew that look. Jack had looked like that. And Tim probably knew that. Tim knew that Jack knew. 

Just a bit more pressure, but soften the blow.  
“We're brothers, Tim. Don't we deserve to know the truth? You and me?” 

“I....Jack... I can't. You can't.”

“Don't tell me what I can or can't do,” Jack replied, voice flat and treacherously even.

“It's not.....you don't understand... “ Tim stammered, setting down the glass before he spilled it with trembling fingers. 

“Then tell me,” Jack implored. 

Tim looked like a kicked puppy and Jack wanted to wipe that look off his face. His face had no business looking like that. Jack didn't slump, he didn't retreat, he didn't try to make himself smaller and present a smaller target. Jack wasn't pityful. 

But he didn't. He didn't know how much Jack there was in Tim, how deep their similarities reached. 

“It wasn't.... I didn't exactly have a happy childhood. Eileen wasn't....the best mother. We don't have ….like a normal relationship. I... I bet she wouldn't pick up the phone unless she wanted something from me. She'd only tell you the truth if she stood to gain from it. She'd lie otherwise, to make you feel worse, to make herself feel better, or to make herself feel better by making you feel worse. She can't give you what you want, Jack,” he suddenly looked up, locking eyes with Jack, “she won't have the answers. Not the ones you want or need to hear.”

That did make Jack pause. In truth, he'd already gotten his answers, to the basic questions. Eileen Lawrence, 47, no history of employment, known to the police because of numerous charges related to drug abuse, credit card fraud, insurance fraud and similar activities, most of them with more 'fraud' in the title. Dropped out of highshool. Eileen had given birth to twins on the 26th of February when she was 17. The birth certificates were made out for John and Timothy Lawrence. No father listed. Next of kin: Geraldine Abernathy. Granny. Jack knew who his mother was. Where she lived. And what she'd done – dropped one twin off at her own mother's in Tartaus before taking the other with her. 

The biggest question “why?” was still unanswered. Jack was unsure....and he seldom was. Would he like the answer? Was it worse than his own speculations? Would the truth be liberating or would it just hurt? Would he be told the truth at all? 

“That's not your call,” he wanted to tell Tim. He couldn't stop Jack from driving down to her address, knocking on her door and demanding answers. It was his right! He deserved to know why she had abandoned him to Granny, why she'd chosen Tim, why not Jack and-

A gentle touch broke through his spiral of black hate and doubt. Onto his hand, balled into a tight fist on the surface, Tim laid his fingers. 

“Trust me, from years of experience and hours of therapy, talking to Eileen won't make you feel better. It will make you worse. Full of doubt, anger or worse.” 

The seconds ticked by into minutes until Jack loosened his grip and laid his hand flat on the table. 

“I think I figured out most of it anyway. By experience. Because I know Eileen and... there's a reason I don't call her mom, or mother or a name like that. Because she had me...us....young and didn't want to be a mother. And when faced with twins, no father in the picture, she bailed. That's like....her thing. Get someone else saddled with her problems and run off. Start over somewhere else, make the same mistakes, lather, rinse repeat.”

For a terrifying second, Jack was little Johnny, sitting on the scratchy carpet of the living room while Granny smoked and yelled in the kitchen. Complaining about the rotten girl who dumped him on her door and ran. Who left Granny to deal with her problems. His no-good-mother. 

Tim drew his fingers away to run them through his hair and Jack caught himself wanting to snatch them back. 

“I guess, she kept me and left you. You grew up with your grandmother? So...that's probably what happened.”

How could he just say it like that? Drag Jack's thoughts out into the open? 

“And I imagine that you have the same question as me. Why me and not him?”

Jack wanted to nod. Yes. Why was it him who had been left to Granny? Why him?

“No answer Eileen would give could make you feel better. Doesn't matter if she'd lie or tell the truth this time – you can't win here, Jack.”

Tim sat just opposite the table. If Jack stretched his arm, he could touch him. But he felt so far away. Further than the stretch between their childhood homes in Tartaus and Opportunity. He was unreachable. 

“I didn't call Eileen because I didn't want you to get hurt. There's nothing in a relationship with her than pain.”


	5. But they should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chance to present his human side and grow from this experience. Of course he doesn't take it.

They were both silent for a long time. 

“I wish this was a movie, Jack,” Tim said after having drained his beer, “with a mix-up in the hospital, whacky hijinks and then you could be reunited with your real family who has never stopped looking for you and everyone would be happy together. But it's not. That's my life and it has sucked for the most part. I genuinely don't see any possibility that meeting her would make it suck any less.”  
Slowly he reached into his hoodie pocket and drew out a piece of paper. It was unremarkable, lined paper, folded.   
“I've written down her address and phone number. While I can't recommend you using them, it's also not my place to stop you if that is what you really want.” 

Tim placed it onto the middle of the table. 

“Boy, did the acting classes pay off or what? Look at all that drama,” Jack started suddenly, putting his spin on the words, cranking up the Jack-ness, “a folded note? Who even uses pens anymore?” He laughed and took a huge gulp. 

“I get it, I get it, there's no little house, no white picket-fence, no dog out in the country. But hey, thanks for sparing me the disappointment. Just like ripping of a band-aid, ye-owch.”

At that, Tim did look a little bit startled. 

“You meant well, kiddo, and I guess thanks? But I'm a big boy and I'm not in the market for a mother-figure. I was curious about you know, the twin thing, and that's cleared up.”

“That's it?” Tim gasped with a laugh that had a nervous tinge to it. “I bear my soul and...”

“And you did good. You protected me from a Justnomom and I'm glad I avoided that trainwreck then. Topic's done for me,” Jack blasted on an gave Tim one of his most dazzling smiles. 

“Then you don't want this?” Tim asked incredulously, pointing to the piece of paper. 

“You said it's not worth it and that's good enough for me,” Jack replied. It wasn't as if he didn't have the same contact details in his jacket pocket anyway. What were you supposed to do after your long-lost brother poured out his heart in front of you? He certainly wasn't about to take off his shirt and compare scars. Tell him about Granny and his childhood. Share his fears and doubts and reveal that his worst fears pretty much had come true about him being abandoned by a heartless mother because she was apparently a terrible human being and lying seemed to run in the family and what if it was genetic, what if everyone in his family turned out to be an asshole, what had he passed on, was Angel going to be this way too when she grew up?  
“I got enough going on.”

“Huh,” Tim figured and slumped back down, the tension bleeding out from him, “you took this much better than I thought. And here I was, bracing myself for hours of talking and painful questions that shine a light on every part of myself and my past that I keep hidden in the box labeled 'for therapy use only, terrifying stuff', but...guess not.” He still sounded doubtful. “But you're probably a high-strung tech wiz who is also already raising a family, so you probably even mean it.”

Jack hadn't told him about Angel.   
“What makes you think that?” he inquired, just managing to conceal the metaphorical knife in his voice. 

“The booster seat in your car was sort of a give-away. As was the sun shade, but I would never judge a man by the media he consumes. Maybe you just like pre-school cartoons about robots,” Tim joked. 

Right. He'd been in his car and Tim wasn't dumb. Which was good, but also it was not nice to be caught off guard. Maybe he should have anticipated this. In a way, he was dealing with himself here. Tim seemed nice and he probably hadn't meant it in any bad way, but one could never be too sure. Angel was a sensitive topic and Jack would have preferred to breach it on his own. 

The joviality was back. “Got me, I admit it, I'm a dad. I usually don't talk much about her. The industry is cut-throat and I don't want the sharks to smell blood.”

“Ah, so you keep the talk of nurseries, diapers and all that to a minimum, I get it.”

Okay, maybe he had overestimated Tim there. Or he just didn't know anything about kids, their sizes, how big they were at what age and age-appropriate media consumption. She was almost 5, she wasn't a baby. And she was bright, like really smart. Well for a toddler. But she was Jack's, of course she was half a genius already. But maybe even a very smart for her age Jack jr shouldn't be left at home indefinitely and if the clock with the broken glass on the wall was somewhat accurate, it was almost midnight. 

Shit. He pulled out his phone, checked the time – right, fuck – and pulled up the feed from the nannycam. Angel was sleeping on the couch, the TV must have turned itself off at one point due to inactivity. 

What are you doing, Jack? A voice asked him. Be with your daughter. 

Tim noticed his discomfort. “Did something happen?” 

“The sitter needs to head home, I should get going,” he lied effortlessly. Yes, because of course Jack was a responsible parent who would never leave his toddler at home unsupervised in the middle of the night. What had he been thinking? God! He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem, he had been feeling – thinking with his heart? - and it had turned to shit, as always. 

“It's about time for me, too,” Tim agreed and stood up. Jack suspected it wasn't the truth – Tim was unemployed, his roommate not even home if he worked nights – but Tim seemed …..kind, really. Giving him an easy out. Or maybe _he_ needed the out and was grateful for Jack making the first move. Whatever. He needed to go. 

“Don't you, uh...,” Tim gestured to that damned piece of paper still on the table, “want to take this? I really can't make the choice for you and don't want you to feel resentment later if you regret not taking it.” His body language reminded Jack of the pictures of dogs you sometimes see, like the dog being scared of the vacuum yet still standing in front of a sibling or baby. It screamed “I really don't want to do this but feel like I have to.” 

A tiny, positively minuscule, part of Jack wondered why Tim would do that for him, but the rest of Jack needed to get a move on.

“I told you, I don't need it.” Tim could interpret that however he liked. 

The expression on Tim's face was unreadable which was alien to Jack because that was his face! He should have been able to know what Tim was thinking. 

“I will see you again, right?” Tim asked softly. 

Ah, bracing for rejection while clinging desperately to hope that the other person would reassure them instead, but unwilling to show it because when had that ever lead to anything good? Jack had stopped looking like that a long time ago. Had Tim not learned at this point? 

“You're my brother, you're not getting rid of me that easily,” Jack joked. He settled his tab and they both went outside. It was getting colder at night and Jack was glad that the heating in his car still worked, even if a lot of other things didn't. 

He pulled Tim into a hug and squeezed. Tim squawked.   
“That's too tight, I'm not a teddy bear!” but he laughed all the same. Tension broken, crisis averted, relationship restored. 

“Do you need a lift?” Jack offered.   
“I'm good, thanks. Now that I know the correct bus stop,” Tim answered. “I guess I see you soon?”

“Absolutely. Might need to find another sitter, but I'll text you.”  
Yes, good, establish the lie. 

“I expect to see an indecipherable mess of emojis on my phone tomorrow,” Tim laughed in the 'please, I don't want to come off as pushy, but I'd really like it if you did' way. 

“I will bitch about work at work tomorrow and you will be the first to hear about it,” Jack promised.   
The last thing he saw before he turned the corner was Tim awkwardly waving in his side mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Jack, Tim didn't tell you that one detail about his life. Better hope it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass later.


	6. Have been Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel goes to a birthday party, Jack and Tim go to the planetarium.

And Jack kept his word. He sent Tim several emoji-ladden texts complaining about his coworkers and boss right after he had logged in for the day. It became part of his routine. Wake-up, get ready, wake up Angel, get her ready, eat breakfast (both shoveled brightly colored cereal in their mouths, sometimes even with milk), take Angel to daycare, break some small traffic laws on his way to work since the daycare was in the other direction and who really cared about one or two illegal turns when no one was watching anyway? Not him, that's who. Arrive at work, get a coffee, swipe whatever food isn't labelled and boot up his work station. Then text Tim. 

Tim listened patiently, joined in the bitching sometimes and Jack just loved how familiar the exact phrasing sounded sometimes. His fingers would be poised over the keys of his phone and a smile found its way on his lips because the words he was about to type or had begun to type had already been sent. By Tim. 

The print-out with Eileen Lawrence's name, contact details and criminal history rested in the locked drawer of his desk at home. Jack periodically wavered between sick curiosity, anger and gratitude. Tim had spared him from a meeting with Granny 2.0. But like a steadily spreading blood poisoning, the questions crept closer. Once or twice Jack had caught himself taking the wrong turn, driving the scenic route back to the daycare, getting closer to the address. He had always managed to talk himself out of it. So far. Without fail he would take out his phone, fire off a quick text to Tim or even call once or twice. Hearing his voice calmed him down and then he'd resume with his day. 

Sometimes they'd meet up for a short conversation and a drink. But Jack still had a bad feeling about leaving Angel alone that one (ok, those two) times and didn't let those meeting last too long. He wanted more and by the looks, Tim did, too. Jack had to conveniently fire his 'sitter' and it was finally true when he said he didn't have appropriate childcare at the moment. Tim understood and Jack was immensly glad that Tim had never asked to meet Angel or ask questions that weren't polite and bland, like asking after a coworker's kid. It was obvious that Tim wasn't collecting information on her and stuck to Jack's boundary of 'don't you dare talk to my daughter' (that Jack had never expressed, never had to express). Tim knew his place and Jack appreciated that. 

Two weeks passed like that, daily text conversations, same routine, 4 meetings, when Jack felt it was time for more. Luckily, one of the other kids at daycare had a birthday coming up and with that came a party and a sleepover. Angel was, of course, invited and Jack rvsp'd immediately. Normally he would be a bit more cautious, but the Specks lived in a mansion, had excellent home security and a former roadie of Mr Speck's former life as a rockstar had become a bodyguard. While he was asking Angel what present little Gaige would like, he tested the waters by slyly mailing the parents if it would be okay if he ducked out early for a doctor's appointment. Normally the parents hung around, socialized and kept watch, but Jack couldn't be paid to watch other people's kids under normal circumstances and especially not when an evening with Tim was finally possible. They had absolutely no problem and reassured him that it was fine. 

Immediately he texted Tim while he ordered a backpack (plus the giftwrap option and a personalized card). Naturally Tim was eager to meet him. Smiling, Jack decided it was time for a test. He let Tim pick the activity.  
Jack had dominated their first encounters, deciding the place and informing Tim of the fact later. He was curious what Tim would choose. 

Would he continue the trend of neutral places? Would he choose something he thought Jack would like? Would he choose for himself? He was sort of broke so that limited his options. 

Jack watched the three dots eagerly. Tim was typing, probably deleting several suggestions. He could almost see him, biting his lips, weighing his options.  
“Museum?” Tim asked finally. “Planetarium?”  
Good answers. Jack was pleased. Neutral ground, bit nerdy, but not too niche. Thankfully no hipster stuff, Jack had dreaded that Tim would suggest going berry picking, attend commnity theatre or a poetry slam. All things he knew that Tim liked, but Tim knew Jack well enough not to drag him to one of these. 

The birthday came and Jack was on his best behavior. He rang the doorbell at the gate, got buzzed in and was sized up by a man who both towered over him and also looked like he could probably crush the car one-handed. The festive little party hat on his head did absolutely nothing to soften the proverbial blow of the man's aura. Normally Jack would get right up in his face, snarl, mark his territory, but pissing off the bodyguard was a bad idea, especially if he needed favors. But he couldn't risk it. Angel skipped ahead of him, so he carried the present with both hands and followed her. It wasn't as if it was heavy, but then he wouldn't have to shake any hands.  
“You must be Angel's dad,” a booming voice greeted him. Mr Speck looked every bit like Jack supposed a retired rockstar looked like with a shocking head of red hair.  
“Call me Jack,” he intervened quickly and smiled. Come on, Tim can do it, you have the same face, nice smile.  
“Shame you have to leave early, you're missing a hell of a party,” Mr Speck pointed out but the rest of it was incomprehensible, drowned out by a shrill shriek only little girls could produce.  
Come on, Jack, Tim-voice, you can do it.  
“Gosh, I know, but this was the only opening in the schedule. I'm so grateful you invited Angel.”  
Too much? He wished he had a mirror so he could check if the smile was soft enough and didn't have his usual sharp knife-edge to it.  
“We're delighted!” Mr Speck boomed and an equally loud voice boomed back.  
“Where is my favorite niece? We're gonna have cake and SPARKLERS!”  
Jack could only catch a glimpse of the other guy – bandana, mane of unruly hair, moustache – but the air guitar solo (which Mr Speck joined after a second) led him to suspect that it had to be another former band member.  
His eardrums would thank Jack, the sooner he left the better.  
He bent down to Angel's level to say goodbye, but she was eager to run of to her friends and get cake.  
“Have a nice day, sweetie,” he called after her, but she had already taken off. There was a brief pang of something, but then it passed and he needed to go. 

Tm awaited him in front of the planetarium, giving him a small wave once he spotted Jack's car careening into the parking lot. He wore the hoodie again and Jack was now certain that it had to either be a comfort item or just the only viable piece of clothing Tim owned. The weather was getting colder and soon the hoodie wouldn't be enough. Jack and his three work-appropriate shirts felt for him.  
He got out of the car and enveloped Tim in a hug as soon as he was close enough. Tim harrumphed good-naturedly, but Jack knew he was getting to like the hugs. Jack had never had much regard for other people's personal space but for Tim it was different and actually worse. If Tim asked him to stop, really asked him, Jack would probably stop. But Tim wouldn't, because space had no place between them. Tim was his brother and Jack felt entitled to almost 30 years' worth of lost physical contact. Quickly, Jack catalogued the sensorical data – store-brand cheap shampoo, deodorant, detergent, nervous bout of energy and fidgeting, sharp intake of breath, gradual loosening of his stiff posture, thin hoodie fabric, a burst of warmth and finally Tim's hands coming up to return the embrace – loosely, as if he wasn't quite sure if he was allowed to, if Jack wouldn't react violently and lash out. Tim's hand were big – same size as his – and briefly held him, warmth seeping through the stiff fabric of Jack's jacket. When Jack was satisfied, he stepped back. 

“So, planetarium,” he began, “nerdy, but the cool kind of nerdy.”  
Tim laughed, glad for Jack's approval.  
“What else is the cool kind of nerdy, for future reference?” Tim asked as they both turned to walk up the stairs. A plaque at the bottom showed a stylized sun and proclaimed that other stairs would also be fitted with plaques of the planets and and how the distance would be in ratio to their actual distance to each other and the sun.  
They stepped onto Themis, Eden, Promethea, Hephaestus, Artemis, Menoetious and Dionysus. Jack had taught Angel the proper mnemonic phrase of “The eagle perches high above my door”. Not the more popular (at least among teenagers and frat boys) variation featuring the words “escort”, “phuck” and “dick”. Near the door, a crudely drawn graffiti proclaimed “Nekrotafeyo IS a planet” followed by an echotag.  
“Dinosaurs are always acceptable,” Jack started his list and countedon his fingers, “computers rule. Machines if they're like sportscars. And aquariums, but only if they have sharks.”  
They stopped at the end of an annoyingly large line. Jack knew it was the first weekend of the month so admittance was free which explained why so many families with kids were loitering in front of the entrance and why Tim had probably chosen it. 

He groaned theatrically but stood in line. It gave him more time to chat with Tim, but the children were stretching his already thin (nonexistant) patience. When the kid belonging to the family in front of them ran like a possessed skag, resulting in him crashing into Tim, Jack saw red. The kid was a snot-nosed boy and Jack could practically smell the lack of parenting emanating from him. He wailed as if he had been hurt (if only) and blamed Tim in a mix of shrieks and sobs. The parents were drawing breath, but Jack was quicker. With a lunge he stepped in front of Tim, snarled and let them have it.  
“Make that brat stop squealing! Control your intellectually-challenged crotch goblin before I will and I promise it won't be pretty. Get out of my face before I redecorate the pavement with the bloody smear that will be the result of me stomping your empty skulls!”  
With a comically audible click, the mother's jaw snapped shut and the father ushered his family away from them, giving them dirty looks. They hurried up when Jack shifted his stance.  
Tim made noise that Jack recognized as a cut-off “I really shouldn't”nevrous giggle. In front of them, several parents had their hands clapped over their kids' ears and looked at them with shock and revulsion.  
“Why don't you go ahead?” someone in front of them suggested and in unison the others made way for them, shuffling out of Jack's path. 

Tim managed to keep it together until they were past the ticket booth and the donation box. He ducked into a corner of the “Famous Astronomers” exhibit and Jack followed.  
“What the hell?” Tim whispered and Jack was irritated because it was too quiet to make out the exact tone and too dark to see his face properly. Outrage? Disapproval? Amusement?  
“They got what they had coming,” he explained and shrugged. Verbal aggression was fine, right? Not like he had punched someone.  
“But Jack-”  
“Ah-ah-ah,” Jack tutted, “they were being dicks and I put the into their place. You gotta show people you're the meanest guy in town or they'll try to walk all over you. Better bark first until they back away.”  
He wisely didn't add that it also got him into position for proverbial biting.  
Tim shook his head, but not in disapproval. More “I can't believe this just happened.”  
“Besides, we got what we wanted,” Jack sing-songed. That little stunt had probably shaved off at least half an hour of waiting time.

“Do things always go your way?” Tim asked and Jack felt something in the air, like an electrical charge. Clearly, Tim meant something more by it. He'd only gotten glimpses of Jack's temper before, now he had been a witness. He'd been the cause.  
“Eventually,” Jack replied, “it's not like I'm a billionaire with a turbo-mansion or whatever, but I've only been going up since....forever. You work hard, show the right atttitude, and then....yes, things usually work out.”  
He could only begin to imagine the profound change going on inside of Tim, saw his eyes go distant, brain running a hundred miles a minute.  
Suddenly the room was too small and he needed air. Jack tugged at Tim's wrist and then steered him into the bright hallway. That was better.  
“Come on, I want to see the big bang, everything going boom,” he announced and with his hand over Tim's shoulders, he walked them to the projection room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having too much fun with Gaige's retired rockstar dad. Mr Torgue was not planned, but suddenly he was there and he fits so well.


End file.
